Making It Day
by DarthIllogical
Summary: Legend fanfic- This is my first one, I hope it's not all too bad! This is the story of one of Day's first encounters with the evil Republic.


A/N: Oi, sorry I haven't been publishing for a while. Take this as a sorry present! This scene is set when Day is six, nine years before _Legend_.

I see the officer strutting down the street, with his hands both placed on the gun, ready to shoot at any moment. He looks so full of himself, looking down at the neighbors like they were a piece of dirt on the bottom of his shiny and polished, boot. A girl, with mousy brown hair, skitters up to him and seems to ask him something, maybe food or a drink of water. I know that girl- Leila, she sits a few seats over from me at school. All the adults love Leila, surely he'll help her.

He slaps her across the face. She cries out.

I hate him. I feel my mouth curl into a frown- no, a sneer- and wish I could paralyze him using just my eyes like a hero in a story Mommy once told me. Then I could get Mommy and Daddy and John a house in a rich sector like Opal and we wouldn't have to worry about getting sick and dying.

I hate him.

"Daniel- Daniel, stop staring." Mommy's frantic voice comes from behind me. I'm only six, but I can tell that she's trying to be stern, even though her words waver. She's been sweeping in front of our house, trying to get the dirt off of the cinderblock steps, but now she's standing with an arm protectively on my shoulder.

"C'mon, Daniel. Let's go play behind the house. Hide and seek?" John, who has been playing with one of our very few toys, asks me as the policeman gets closer and closer. He's my older brother, nine years old. When he turns ten, which is soon, he'll take the trial.

'He'll be ten in one month, then he'll take the trial.' My parents always say it with a sort of finality, like they are trying to convince the other of their opinion on something. The problem with that is that it's a fact, not an opinion. Unless John dies, of course. Here in Lake sector, that could always be a possibility.

"But I want to play here on the sidewalk!" I whine, but John grabs my bony wrist in his hand and starts dragging me behind our house. I stumble, trying to keep up with him. As soon as we get out of the officer's line of vision, he spins around and shakes me by the shoulders.

"You never look at a police officer, understand me?" He hisses. "If you so much as glance at them, they'll fill you up with bullets."

"But, John-"

"Daniel. You love me, right? You love Mommy, right? You love Daddy, right?"

"Yeah, but John-"

"Then you have to stay out of trouble, because if something happened to you, then we would all be heartbroken." He taps his chest. "Here in Lake, everything would be a dark night if it weren't for you. You make it to day for our family."

Day. I made it day. I was special to them. I feel the corners of my mouth curve. "Okay, John."

John starts to smile back, but an expression of fear overcomes his face as a shriek comes from the street. Something clatters from the ground, and the sound of a butt of a rifle hitting somebody rings out.

"Woman! What are you hiding in those binds of your hands? Answer me!" Another crack rings out. This time I recognize the moan following. It's Mommy.

"Stay here, Daniel. _Don't move._ You hear me? _Don't move,_ " John shoves me down roughly into a sitting position.

"Mommy..." I whisper as he runs toward the front of the house.

I hear John's voice. "Sir, please stop. My mother works at the glass factory, and she cuts her hands a lot, sir. Please, sir. We ha-"

"Silence!" The officer roars. I hear a slap, and John's anguished cry.

John told me to stay here, but I can't help myself. I keep close to the house as I sneak forward quietly. What I see makes me stop- the policeman is ripping the fabric from Mommy's hands, his rough actions reopening the cuts and slices, oozing fresh blood onto her dress. John is at her side, watching with anxious eyes. The officer seems to enjoy Mommy's pain.

I hate him.

He doesn't know what it's like to be living in a slum sector. To go to bed with your stomach empty every night. To see the people you go to school with start missing more and more classes until suddenly they don't come to school anymore. To see death lurking around every corner on the street. He doesn't know what it's like to know the people he kills.

I want to hurt him, to kill him. I don't know how to fight, but still I crouch, getting ready to knock him over- but John sees me, and with the slightest motion, he shakes his head. The worry in his eyes is the only thing that stops me.

The officer pauses. "Is that ring gold?" He asks the question with a greedy look in his eyes, roughly grabbing her wrist to bring the ring Mommy is wearing closer. I don't remember Mommy wearing a ring, or barely what her hands look like since they are always wrapped up.

"P-partly, sir." Despite the mean officer, Mommy is trying to be brave. I'm proud of her.

"Give it to me, woman." The policeman's voice is low and menacing. He yanks her wrist even harder. Mom gasps, her eyes holding agony, and nods.

"Yes, sir." While the officer is still holding her wrist in a vise-like grip, she slides the ring off of her finger. A tear trickles down her cheek, washing off dirt as it goes. Grunting, the police officer releases her and snatches the ring, tucking it into his breast pocket.

"You got lucky this time, woman." He mutters, and strides on. Immediately, I run out to Mommy and John. My face is wet. I didn't even realize I'd been crying.

"Mommy! John!" I hiccup. "Are you okay?!" John only has a cut on his forehead, but Mommy's hands are gushing blood and a nasty purple bruise is spreading on her forehead. Underneath her eyes, the shadows seem even deeper.

'The ring... I'm so sorry, Mom," John says, hugging Mommy. She turns around, looking after the officer.

"Me too, Mommy." I hug her too.

"It's okay," Mom states boldly, but her voice cracks. "It... wasn't... even all gold..." Another tear escapes, and drips off of her chin.

Suddenly, I remember what the ring is. It's the marriage ring that Daddy gave Mommy two years ago, when I was four. One night, he came home with a pouch in his pocket, and twirled Mommy around as soon as he came through the door.

'It took a long time - eight years,' He had said, 'but now I can finally do this the right way.' He got down on his knee, and held his palm up. Inside was a ring, sparkly and gold. Mommy had clapped her hands over her mouth as he said, 'Will you marry me again, but with a ring this time?' John had explained to me what was happening, and we laughed and celebrated until it was bedtime, Mommy giving us some extra beef hash that night.

Now the ring is gone. It took Daddy eight years to save up for that ring for Mommy, and now it's gone.

John guides Mommy back into the house, shooting me a significant look to let Mommy have some peace.

Despite John's warning, I look back at the policeman. He's strutting around the corner haughtily, and something ignites inside of me. Someday, I would make the police- no, the whole goddy Republic- pay for this. Someday, I would change this night to day permanently.

Someday.


End file.
